Soup
by HotaruGFC
Summary: Charlotte doesn't show up for a captain's meeting and Yami wants to know why. YamiChar, sickfic
1. Chapter 1

Yami yawned as he walked into the meeting. Julius had called it suddenly and with little purpose, or so it seemed to him. Nothing in the news had stood out to him as a problem, so Yami could only assume whatever was going on was being kept secret from the public.

Either that or Julius had some hairbrained idea he wanted them to follow up on so he could go scouring the countryside for new magic.

Everyone was already gathered and the look which met Yami as he sauntered into the meeting room was one of pure disgust. He took the empty seat next to the little puffball of a captain who served as Julius' replacement once removed.

Damn am I glad I don't have to serve under him, Yami thought as he leaned back in the chair.

He looked around the table at the gathered occupants-Mister Hardnose, The Ham, Braidface, Scrawny Line Face Dude, Miss Sleeps-a-Lot, The Masked Wonder, and Puffball were all familiar. But in the spot typically occupied by the Queen of Thorns sat someone unfamiliar. He leaned forward on the table, the front legs of his chair landing with a heavy thunk against the floor. All eyes turned to him as he focused in on the brown-haired woman where Charlotte should be. She wore the Blue of the squad and her face was almost as serious as Charlotte's, though Yami got the feeling she could cut loose more easily than the Briar Maiden.

"Where's Charlotte?" He asked, to a collective groan of the table.

"If you had been here on time, you would know." Mushroom Head stacked papers angrily as he replied. Julius looked at Marx and then to Yami with his trademarked ineffable smile. Yami glanced at the man who was part boss, part brother.

I never know what he is thinking when he smiles like that.

"She's fallen ill." The unfamiliar voice spoke up, drawing Yami's attention. The woman turned to him and meeting his eyes. He furrowed his brow as he got the feeling of being evaluated by her gaze. "It's nothing serious, just a cold, but the doctor said it was best for her to stay in bed."

"Oh." Yami leaned back in the chair again, his mind wandering as the meeting continued.

As he left Magic Knight Headquarters after the meeting, he tried to remember what the meeting had been about. He shrugged his shoulders, figuring if he needed to do anything, that Julius would have told him specifically. All he could remember was something about terrorists. Instead of listening, he realized he had pouted the entire time. His favorite plaything hadn't been there and it had thrown him off. As he walked back through the castle town where the magic knights were headquartered looking for his ride back to base, he couldn't stop thinking.

Thinking was usually a dangerous prospect for him, not because he was bad at it-and a great many people thought he was, but rather because once he got an idea in his head he would follow through with it. And sometimes those conclusions turned out less than ideal results.

He thought about the meeting, and the new girl in attendance, and about the one who was missing. He thought about how he had never seen her sick before, not even the slightest sniffle or womanly pain. He thought she had to be feeling incredibly bad to have missed such a summons.

And the thought about his past in this strange land which he now called home, and the friends and family he had made. He thought no matter how much he might tease the others, he still counted them among his friends, if not family. And he thought about what it means to be a friend, what it means to be family.

Julius was family, obviously, though he would never come out and tell anyone. The man was somewhere between a mentor, father, and older brother, having stepped into his life when Yami needed all three.

The Bulls were family too, of course, in their crazy mixed up way. He would willingly give his life for each of them.

The rest of the captains were dear friends and comrades-even Jack and Nozel. He would always have their backs in a fight against any outside threat, and Yami knew he could trust them to have his in the same situation. Even if they had no love otherwise, they respected each other.

And then there was Charlotte.

Charlotte was an anomaly. They were friends, at least he hoped they were. They had fought back to back on a few occasions, had missions together. He even stopped her magic from consuming an entire town before when she had lost control. He never understood what it had been about or why he had stopped it when she couldn't, but he did. After that, she always seemed anxious around him. He didn't know why.

And there was one time when he had kissed her. He had never intended to; it had sort of just happened. They had been deep undercover investigating threats to the crown when they were discovered. As they had run for their lives, he had pulled her into a tiny alcove between buildings-an alleyway tucked in among an alleyway. He told himself he was only kissing her to help hide them from their pursuers.

But it had become something more once his lips hit hers.

She had slapped him, of course. He deserved it.

And after that, she seemed even more anxious around him.

"Yami?" Finral's voice cut through his thoughts and Yami pulled up short, his mind suddenly back from the world of his memories.

Yami walked passed the door to the tavern he knew Finral would be near without noticing where he was. He looked around and oriented himself. A couple of young women were walking away from Finral, who looked at his boss with a furrow in his brow and a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

"Let's go home, Finral."

As Yami stepped through the portal which would take them back to their home, he could not shake the feeling of concern which had nagged him since the meeting. Charlotte was sick, probably from working too hard, he wagered, and he was going to do something about it.

A couple of hours later, he stood outside the building which served as the base of the Blue Rose Knights. A small package was tucked beneath his arm, wrapped up in a colorfully patterned wrap. Charmy hadn't asked why when he had asked her to make it, though she had blinked a couple of times when she saw him packaging up a serving and wrapping it so neatly. Finral knew enough to not ask questions when Yami ordered him to send him a door to the other squad's base. As a teleportation mage, Yami had made Finral mark several important locations upon accepting him into the squad-including spots near the other squad bases. Yami hated to fly, which was why he had accepted the House Vaude failure in the first place, and he was pleased to know Finral had taken his job seriously at least the first few weeks.

He took a deep breath and shifted the weight of the object he cradled before approaching the gate surrounding the complex. He felt nervous, and he didn't exactly know why. Was he concerned about the women of the squad? He knew they were fiercely protective of their captain, but he also knew they were no match for his magic, or his physical skill, with the exception of a very few of them. No, he wasn't scared of them. He was scared of explaining himself. He didn't want to tell them why he had shown up suddenly, or why he wanted to see their captain. Frankly, he wasn't sure he knew himself. The idea had gotten into his head and he had no way of taming it short of action. So he took another deep breath and walked up to the gate. Yami was surprised at how easily he was allowed entrance. Though he had never been inside the nearly all-female squad base, he had imagined the group to be far more unwelcoming to someone like him than they were.

Not that they were particularly gracious in their welcome. He was met with sidelong glances, whispers, and outright stares as he passed through the hallways. The girls did their best to make him feel uncomfortable, but they did not deny him outright.

This is a bad idea, he told himself, but knew deep down he would see it through to the end. Once an idea took hold, he couldn't let it go, no matter how easily he could see the poor outcome. He took solace in the warmth of the bundle tucked beneath his arm.

The door he was led to was simple and indistinguishable from the other doors. He would never have thought it to be the door to the chambers of the squad captain, but then, Charlotte never seemed the type to place herself above others. His own door was just as simple and indistinguishable from the others. In many ways, he thought, they were very much alike-never looking down on others simply because of rank, and never using their rank to lord over their subordinates. If anything, from what he knew of her, Charlotte would likely assume everyone was better than she was, so she would have to make herself strong enough to stand on her own. The woman had some trust issues. He had seen them first hand on the few missions they served together, though she seemed to be handling them better in the last few years.

He stood staring at the door. His heart raced and he felt rooted to the spot. He noticed the dark variations in the wooden door facing him. He was strangely nervous. He took a deep breath once more and let it out slowly. He told himself what he always told his squad, push through and surpass what you are. He always thought it was good advice, as true about everything as it was about fighting and magic. And now it was time for him to follow it.

He knocked on the door.

Charlotte had struggled to get out of bed, and once she was out, she had struggled to get fully dressed. Her arms were too weak to lift her armor, too heavy to hold up as she tried to put her hair in its trademark bun. She found herself dozing at the vanity on several occasions. And even though it was a beautiful spring day, she could not shake the chill which had followed her since she had dragged herself out of bed. She looked back at her bed and the thick blanket lying in a lump on top of it. She longed to wrap herself back in its warmth, but she could not. She had been summoned. Julius had need of the captains.

She shuffled to the door and was about to pull it open when a knock sounded on it.

"Charlotte?" The voice on the other side was familiar though muffled through the thick wood. Charlotte tried to pull open the heavy door, but her weakened state denied her the strength to perform such a simple task. She leaned heavily against the door, groaning in frustration.

"Are you alright?" the voice asked, concern pitching it upwards.

"I'm fine." Charlotte knew her response was stubborn as she pushed herself up from the door and tried pulling it open once more. She grunted with the effort but was still unsuccessful. The owner of the voice pushed the door open and looked at her captain with concern. The brunette raised one dark eyebrow as she scanned Charlotte's appearance. Charlotte was half-dressed, the stays she wore beneath her armor were laced incorrectly with part of them gaping open. Her hair was a frazzled mess with only half of it staying up in the bun she usually wore.

"No, you are not." The vice-captain and Charlotte's confidant shook her head, long brown ponytail swishing behind her. She put her palm on Charlotte's forehead, followed by her cheeks and clucked with concern. "Get back to bed."

Charlotte could think of nothing she would like to do more, but she had to attend the meeting. Julius had commanded it. And if she went, she thought, she might be able to see him.

"No, I'm fine. Just help me with my hair." Charlotte tried to straighten herself but swayed on her feet when left unsupported. She shuffled to the vanity once more. "I have to get to headquarters for a meeting."

"You can barely stand up, Charlotte. I'm going in your place."

Charlotte looked aghast at her second in command. She was, of course, correct. She was within her right as Vice Captain to attend these events should the captain be unable. But Charlotte stubbornly convinced herself she was able. For the most part, her second would give in to the stubbornness. She knew Charlotte was picky about how things usually play out, how she was almost controlling to a fault at times. But today was not one of those days.

"Don't look at me like that." Her dark brown eyes were hard but warm, calculating, but concerned. "You get back in bed. I'll send the doctor in."

"But..." Charlotte started to protest, but her friend leaned toward her and whispered.

"If the only reason you are pushing yourself is that you want to see him, you and I are going to have words." She hissed in Charlotte's ear. Charlotte felt herself redden despite the fever. Her vice-captain, her friend was one of a very select group who actually did know about her infatuation with the Black Bull's captain. Charlotte hadn't told the other woman outright. She had been found out from the surreptitious looks she had given him at various events. Thankfully, Charlotte had been confronted in private about the entire sordid ordeal. She would have been mortified if he had overheard the discussion.

"I would never." Charlotte felt she was answering honestly, but she also had to admit to herself that she would be happy to see him. She had been wanting to see him lately but had no reason to randomly bump into him.

Her second only raised her eyebrow once more and pressed her lips into a small smirk before shaking her head. She pointed her finger at Charlotte and then gestured to the bed. Charlotte sighed and gave in to the command far more easily than she would have otherwise. She shuffled over to the bed and slipped gratefully back under the covers. She sat up again and removed her stays before snuggling down beneath the thick blanket.

"Now I know you really are sick." Her friend pulled the blanket up to Charlotte's chin. "You usually have more fight in you."

Charlotte drifted off to sleep as her second said she would report in about the meeting when she got back.

Charlotte wasn't sure how long she had slept when she heard the knock on the door, but she did not want to open her eyes in the mid-afternoon sun streaming through her window. She tried to call out and ask who it was, but her voice cracked with lack of use and need of hydration.

"Charlotte? It's Mira." Her second in command peeked around the door. "Can I come in?"

Charlotte blinked her eyes, which were still heavy with sleep as she sat up. Her entire body ached and as she moved she felt stiffness in every joint.

"Yeah," she whispered as she swung her legs off the side of the bed. She had hoped she would feel better after the extended nap which had been forced upon her, but if anything, she felt worse. She shuffled slowly to the small attached room where she could relieve herself before making her way back to the bed. All she wanted at the moment was to sleep. Mira had poured a glass of water and handed it to her as she sat back down. Charlotte drank it greedily.

"Still feeling bad?"

Charlotte nodded as she set the glass down on the table beside the bed.

"Feeling worse if anything." The creakiness of her voice was gone, but her throat felt scratchy.

"Should I send for the doctor?" Charlotte could see the worry on her friend's face. She shook her head.

"Not yet. If it keeps up tomorrow, sure."

"If you say so." The vice-captain sat on the edge of the bed as Charlotte pulled the blanket up to her chin and leaned against the headboard.

"How was the meeting?" Charlotte coughed. The fit took her over as Mira started talking.

"It was fine." Mira started as the fit seemed to fade. She stood and poured Charlotte another glass of water. "The Wizard King is worried about rumors of a new terrorist group."

"Another one?" Charlotte said after a long sip of cool water slid down her throat.

"Well, a resurgence of one."

"Anything else?"

"Not really. I'll get you the full report."

"Did you take notes?"

"Don't I always?"

Charlotte sighed at the fussy nature of her friend. She usually committed such things to memory, but truth be told, she should also start taking notes herself. Her memory wasn't what it once was. She glanced down at the glass nestled between her hands and resting on her lap. She wanted to ask, as she stared into the water. She wanted to know. Her tired mind was driven by the need to know, but she still had enough of her faculties to let the question die unspoken on her lips. She lifted the glass and sipped once more on the cool, clear liquid. As the water slid down her throat, she could feel the anxious beating of her heart. The question must have shown on her face as well.

"Yami asked about you. I mean, when he noticed you weren't there."

Charlotte's grip on the glass tightened as she took another sip. She tried to keep her face emotionless and flat. She was a master of the process on any normal day, but from the smirk which spread across her second's lips, she knew she must have failed in her attempt.

"You really did want to go just to see him." Mira chuckled and shook her head. Charlotte leaned her head against the headboard and sighed.

"It wasn't the only reason," she admitted as Mira continued to laugh.

A knock on the door cut through their discussion like a machete. Charlotte froze and Mira walked toward the door.

"Who is it?"

Yami stood outside the door for what felt like an eternity. The one squad member he spoke to-the tall, dark Amazon, who by all rights was a foreigner like himself-had led him to believe Charlotte was indeed still in her room. He was fairly certain he had the correct door, though many of them looked similar enough, he could have confused himself. His fist hovered in the air as he waited for an answer. Seconds seemed to drag into centuries before a voice came through the heavy wood of the door.

"Who is it?" the muffled voice asked. Yami thought the voice sounded familiar, but not terribly so. An everlasting moment more past before he found his tongue.

"Uh, it's, um, Yami Sukehiro." He felt strange announcing himself as such. He could not keep his feet planted, though he felt much calmer when they were acting as a bridge between him and the ground beneath him. Instead, he now shifted his weight from one foot to the other in a strange sort of shuffle or dance. He felt he should say more, but he could not find the words to accurately portray his thoughts, at least not without sounding strange or creepy. So he stayed silent and tried to stay still.

The door creaked open and the short brunette from the meeting peeked her head around the corner. She seemed taken aback by his presence.

"You said Charlotte wasn't feeling well. I, uh, I brought her something." He held up the small package. The woman poked her head back behind the door for a moment and he felt his weight shifting once more. I shouldn't be this nervous, he thought, unable to place reasoning for his unease. After a moment the door opened and the woman beckoned him inside.

He had never really thought much about what sort of space Charlotte might live in, but when he entered the room he was overwhelmed by the sense of her. The room was exactly as he would have imagined, only more so and with a fair amount of plushness which was unexpected. But the colors, the textures, even the arrangement of the furniture seemed to scream 'Charlotte Roselei'. He looked at the thick rug covering the wooden floor and its floral pattern in blues and whites, hesitant to walk across it with his dirty boots. He forced himself to take one step and then another. As he walked across the room-it seemed to stretch on forever, though it wasn't much bigger than his own, he looked up at her. She was silhouetted in the window, a dark blotch amid bright sunlight streaming into the darkened space. she sat up in bed looking out the window. Her blond hair was a halo of light hanging loosely around her head. He took a deep breath, trying to still his shaking hands and racing heart. He reprimanded himself for the sudden onset of nerves which had plagued him since he stepped foot into the compound.

Just visiting a sick friend, he told himself in reassurance.

As he stopped at the bedside, she turned and fixed him with her ice blue eyes. They were bloodshot and accented by deep purple rings, but they still held the laser-sharp intensity with which she always regarded him. Her cheeks were flushed crimson and seemed hollow. Her lips were slack and surprisingly full, rather than the thin disappointed line of a scowl she usually wore. He could not take the scrutiny so he looked down at the table beside her bed and the finely cut pitcher of water and glass which rested there.

"I, um, I brought you some soup." He held out the package as he eyes drifted to her hand resting on the white blanket. Her fingers were well manicured, long, delicate as she reached out to take the bundle from him. More suited for something like the piano than a sword, he thought as they brushed his and took on the weight of the gift. He noted how pale and pink they were against his much darker, more golden tone.

"Thank you." Her voice was soft, free of the derision she usually gave him, or any man. He let his hands fall and forced himself to look back at her face. She was looking at the package, her mouth parted slightly as she turned it around in a circle. She ran her fingers over the creases in the fabric with which it was tied up before feeling the texture of the material at the tails of the knot. The sunlight made her hair shine somewhere between molten gold and pure white brilliance.

Dear gods, she is beautiful.

The thought struck him like a sharp quick piercing blow, not unlike the single hit Jack had gotten in on him the last time they had fought. He swallowed hard and turned away, unable to watch as she examined the package in which he had brought what he had thought was a simple wish for a friend's health.

Charlotte ran her fingers over the roughspun cotton intricately folded into a perfect carrying case. The fabric was woven and dyed in an intricate pattern of indigo and white. The design was like nothing she had ever seen in a piece of fabric before, though it did seem familiar from somewhere she could not place. Tied carefully into the knot at the top was a delicate porcelain spoon in a similar white and blue pattern. The spoon was shaped more like a ladle than any spoon she had ever used, but given the context, she felt she could assume the purpose. With a gentle tug, she freed the narrow handle from the knot holding it in place. She carefully untied and unwrapped the fabric to reveal a covered bowl to match the spoon.

Charlotte looked up from the dish in her lap, expecting to see Yami still standing beside her sick bed, but he had wandered away. She saw him on the other side of the room peering at the mementos she had placed so carefully on the top of her dresser. She watched as he picked up each one and examined it with a critical eye. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as he picked up the first one and turned it over in his large hands. She had never enjoyed people touching her things. Even her closest friends knew better than to touch her stuff. She hated how they would leave things out of place after they looked them over. She was about to say something to Yami, to ask him to put the small figurine back when he placed the gingerly object back in the exact spot from which he had taken it.

She watched him a moment longer as he picked up and examined the next object and then the next, always returning them to the precise position in which he had found them. Charlotte was amazed at the care he regarded each one and at his gentleness. She had always imagined him to be as rough off the battlefield as he was on it, or as lackadaisical and sarcastic as he presented himself in the occasional meeting of the captains. The attention to detail, the precision she saw now was new.

She kept her eyes on him as he wandered the room, but she opened the lid on the tightly sealed dish. As the cover came off, a warm, rich aroma struck her from the liquid within. The smell was unfamiliar, but it made her stomach grumble, which it had not done for the last couple of days. She lifted the bowl to her face and inhaled deeply.

"This smells amazing." She was thankful her sense of smell had not been impaired. She fished the spoon out of the wrapping and scooped up a bit to bring to her lips. She blew on it before tasting, surprised at how hot the liquid inside remained.

"Yeah, Charmy's pretty good with food. She says it's supposed to have healing properties, though I don't know about that. But it feels good, or so I've heard, so you should eat up." He didn't bother to look at her as he spoke.

"What kind of soup is it? I've never smelled anything like it." She brought the spoon to her lips and sipped on the clear liquid. She closed her eyes and half sighed, half moaned in enjoyment. The broth slid down her throat and warmed her in a way her blankets had not been able to all day.

"It's um..." Yami rubbed his fingers together and scrunched up his face as he turned to her. She was taking another sip of the soup as she looked at him. He seemed to be searching for a word or phrase which escaped him. "It's misoshiru. I don't know what else it's called." He scratched the back of his head.

"Misoshiru," Charlotte repeated before sipping up another spoonful. "Well, it's delicious. Thank you." She looked at him but could feel her cheeks burning. She knew though, the sensation was not from her fever. She looked at the bowl in her lap and the spoon in her hand. As she had another sip, she couldn't help but feel he had shared something with her, something deep and significant, something about himself he had rarely shared with anyone. She wondered if Lord Julius had ever been privy to Yami's considerate gentleness. She looked back at him only to see he had turned back to his examination of her things.

The dresser top and the vanity were littered with small objects, so much so that Yami was surprised. He realized he had never pictured Charlotte as a collector, but his peek into her world had proven that image wrong. Despite the extensive diversity of the items he examined, he realized she had a very precise system with which she categorized her wares. Each tiny piece of ceramic had its own distinct spot and placement. They were obvious, he thought as he picked up and replaced each one in its spot. He could feel her watching him, could sense her trepidation at first and could sense its easing despite his continued handling of the delicate objects.

The tiny porcelain and glass flowers were multitudinous. And in the afternoon light which had so easily framed her as an angel, the minute sculptures seemed to glow with a life all their own.

He picked up a small glass rose-red instead of the blue of her squad- and turned it so it caught the light. As he put it back in its place, he wondered why he was still there in her room, perusing her belongings when she asked him a question.

And as he tried to summon the name of the soup he had brought her, his mind went blank. He knew there was a name for it in the common tongue of this land. He used it regularly. But for some reason, that name escaped him. Instead what sprung to mind was the name of his childhood. He fought for a moment to find the word she would understand, but gave up and instead told her what he had called it as a child. He did not, however, admit to his memory lapse. How could he when he had no idea what might have caused it.

She said she liked it and Yami let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. He stalked around the room, trailing his fingers along the edge of the warm wood furniture she had peppered with her belongings. He wanted to look back at her, to watch her, but he feared falling into her gaze.

"Good," he answered when she had said she was enjoying the soup. "I intend to stay here until you finish it."

He felt her eyes on him, imagined their crystalline irises piercing him. His intention had been to just drop the soup off to her and leave, but somehow those plans had changed without anyone telling him.

"I just want to make sure I get my bowl back, is all," he announced in recovery. He clenched and relaxed his hands as he continued to move through the room. He came across a small desk, neat and clear, free of the trinkets which littered the other surfaces with their perfect order. The desk was empty aside from a brass seal, an inkwell and pen, and some pure white paper. And an envelope addressed to her in smeared ink of what would have been precise handwriting otherwise. The ink appeared to have run from drops of water. He bent over the desk and looked at the envelope more closely. Similar water stains were dappled all over the paper. He picked up the brass seal-her personal one, not the official seal of her rank, and turned it over in his hands. He had seen the results of the official Blue Rose Knights seal, with its blooming rose inside of a shield. This seal was smaller. It still held a blooming rose, but the thorny branches were shaped as the initial of her family name.

He could feel her gaze drift away from him and then heard her continue eating the soup he had brought. She couldn't finish fast enough, he thought, feeling suddenly overwhelmed with the situation. Eventually, he had made his way completely around the room and found himself standing at the foot of her bed. She looked better, if only just. The color in her cheeks was less sallow and her face seemed fuller. Her eyes had always been sharp, but now they seemed brighter. A smile played on her lips as she brought the spoon back and forth to them.

He licked his own lips as he watched her. He tried to tell himself it was because the soup smelled so good, but it was a half-truth. As he continued watching her eat, he had the strongest urge to kiss her lips.

Foolish, stupid, impossible, he told himself.

He began pacing through the room. The curiosity of his surroundings satisfied, he found nothing to pique his interest, so he paced. Nervousness kept him from being able to sit still.

"Yami, come sit with me. All your pacing is making me dizzy."

He stopped and took a deep breath. He squeezed his hands into fists before releasing them. He reached for his cigarette, only to remember he didn't have one. He looked at Charlotte, propped up with pillows at the head of her bed, a spot of pink and gold nestled in billows of white. She patted the bed next to her. Yami walked over and perched himself on the edge of the bed, facing her, but looking everywhere but her face. She had finished the soup and replaced the cover on the dish. He watched as she tried to tie the bundle back together several times.

"How in the world was this done so neatly before?" she muttered before he took the bowl and the piece of cloth in which it had been wrapped. He spread everything out before him and proceeded to fold and tuck the cloth around the bowl before tying it tightly at the top.

"I watched all of that and I still don't get it." She touched his hand. "Show me again." He looked at her for a moment, her attention fixed on the bundle between them. He glanced at her hand still on his. He loosened the knot and unfolded the fabric. He folded everything back once again, more slowly this time so she could follow. As he tied the knot he looked back to her face, which was screwed up in concentration. She blinked and looked at him with a shrug.

"Still doesn't make sense."

"You have been running a fever. I'm guessing not much makes sense." He looked back at the bundle between them.

"I guess that's true." She nodded.

Yami leaned over to the table beside her bed and picked up the book which lay there. He looked at the cover and flipped through a few pages.

He should have left. She was done eating, he had his bowl back. He was free to go. And yet he could not.

"You like to read?" She asked. He turned to her and was trapped in her gaze once again. He felt the urge to touch her face. He wondered how she would react if he did so. Probably with a nice backhand, he thought.

"I don't read too many novels." He forced himself to look at the book again. "Mostly, I keep up with current events. But Julius made me read this book years ago." He ran his fingers over the spine looking at the words embossed into the leather binding. "It's one of my favorites."

"I never imagined you as much of a reader."

"And I never imagined you as a hoarder of tiny breakable flowers."

He looked at the title once more before flipping through the pages again. He skimmed the words on one page, but he could not focus on them.

"Your hair looks nice."

He heard a small gasp erupt from her.

"I mean, I never see it down. It's a nice change."

"Thanks." Her voice was tiny, distant. "I mean, I wasn't about to sleep with it in a bun or anything," she said more strongly.

He held up the book.

"So you like stories like this?"

"Sometimes. Guilty pleasure, I guess."

He could see the color rise to her cheeks making her seem almost healthy. He placed one hand on her forehead.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking your temperature."

He wanted to touch her. He had been wanting to touch her since he walked into the room, he realized. She sighed and leaned into the touch. Her skin burned as he trailed his fingertips along her skin before pressing his palm against her cheek. Her eyes drifted closed.

"You're burning up." He heard his voice crack slightly, but he tried covering the sound by clearing his throat.

"Yeah. and you've been here long enough." She pressed her cheek into his palm, hesitant to end the touch, despite her words. "I would hate for you to get sick."

"I don't get sick." His fingers slipped down her cheek and around the back of her neck. Her hair was soft and fine as he rubbed his hand through it. She let loose a tiny sigh as he pulled his hand away from her skin. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him, searching his face. She licked her cracked, parched lips and her cheeks grew ever more red as the fever flush spread across her entire face and through her scalp.

"Be that as it may." Her eyes darted between his eyes and lips. "The doctor did say people should limit their exposure. She's not quite sure why I'm sick."

"Reasonable precautionary measure, I guess." He wanted to kiss her. And from the look on her face, she wanted him to as well. Or maybe he was reading things all wrong. This was Charlotte. She hated men. She thought most were useless and unworthy of even grudging respect. True, he counted her among his friends-few though they were-but he always gave her hell, and she would always respond with something about how pathetic he was.

Maybe it was the fever, he thought. People do weird things when they are running a fever and she was so hot to the touch, he had to fight to not pull away at first. He stood up from the bed.

"I guess I should follow the doctor's orders, then."

She seemed to scramble toward him a bit but had gotten tangled in the blanket she had wrapped around herself.

"Yami, wait." She grimaced as she moved, flailing to get the blanket from around her. She knelt on the edge of the bed, looking up at him. Her blue eyes were wide. She stared at him for a moment before dropping her head. "Nevermind."

"What?" He screwed up his face in concern and curiosity.

She shook her head.

"Charlotte, what is it?" He laid his hands on her shoulders. Her skin was hot, even through the white dressing gown she wore.

"I, um, I was wondering if I could have a hug." She continued staring at the floor.

He had told her once, several years ago, when they were both much younger, how she needed to learn to rely on others sometimes. Sometimes it seemed she had learned her lesson, but others proved she still had much to learn. But now, she was asking for something. He couldn't quite put his finger on why she was asking, but he would never turn his back on her when he could give her what she needed. Not after lecturing her about it so long ago.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest. She gasped at the sudden movement, but she relaxed quickly against him, her arms snaking around his waist. She lay her head against his chest and nestled herself securely within his arms. She made no move to let go, but Yami felt his heart beat faster. She fit so well in the space next to him.

Someone sighed, a long slow release of air and tension along with it, but Yami could not quite tell if it was her sighing, or if it was him. He rubbed his hand over her spine and felt a shiver course through her body as it pressed against him. Up her back, over her shoulder and once more to her cheek, his hand traveled. The fabric of her gown was thin and fine. He could feel the fever pouring off of her skin through it. As he cupped her cheek, he tilted her face to his and before he had a thought pass through his head, his lips were on hers.

His consciousness took a beat or two to catch up, and Yami could feel the war waging between his desire and his rationality. He knew this was a bad idea. From the moment he conceived of his little visit, he had known something was going to happen. He had expected her cool demeanor, possibly with an edge of anger. He hadn't expected her to kiss him back. He hadn't expected her to tug his waist closer to her.

He hadn't expected this.

Eventually, he guessed the doctor's warnings and prohibitions came back to her as she pulled away from him. He couldn't tell for certain, but she seemed more flushed somehow. He ran a hand through her hair, wanting to linger. She didn't stop him, but he could sense a change in her, a rigidness to which he was accustomed.

"I, um, I should probably go." He said as he dropped his arms to his side. She nodded and he turned to the door. As he pulled open the large wooden slab, she called out to him.

"Yami?"

He turned to her one more time. He looked at her expectantly where she still knelt on the edge of the bed, not knowing exactly what he wanted her to say to him.

"Thanks for the soup," she said after a moment's glance.

He nodded and stepped out of the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Yami pulled the thin blanket around his shoulders as he sat up in bed. He couldn't remember a time he felt so bad. Even when his arm had been practically torn off, he was up an raring to go very quickly. Of course, he also had a problem sitting still when told to do so... (Never when he wanted to, only when others told him to.).

But now he felt like he had been in a fight for his life-only he had just woken up. He would say it had come on suddenly, but he had felt the ache in his bones for the last couple of days. Still, he had dismissed the feeling as him getting old. Now he was freezing cold despite the summer heat which had been so oppressive for the last couple of days. His throat itched as well- a feeling which was uncomfortable and annoying. He tried to stand and immediately regretted the decision as he swayed on his feet and felt nausea ripple through his gut.

"Dammit," he muttered as he sat heavily down on the bed once more.

He never got sick. Even if everyone around him was practically dying, he never seemed to suffer. But now he could not deny it. He was indeed ill.

"I should have listened to her." He lay back and wrapped himself in the blanket. "She told me to leave." He rolled over onto his side, silently berating himself for his stubbornness at trying to figure out the entire situation a week ago.

He was about to drift off to sleep again when he remembered the meeting Julius had called for that afternoon. He groaned. Julius had been calling these sorts of war room meetings as he called them every couple of weeks. Yami knew the Old Man was worried, but he never gave away much of what was bothering him.

Yami tried to get up again. He would trust his crew with his life, but he was not certain he would trust them with this sort of intelligence meeting. They were liable to get distracted and not even bother showing up. Granted, he hated the meetings himself and didn't want to go in the first place, but it was his job after all. He would get there eventually, in his own time. Julius would give him that frustrating smile of his which Yami had always taken to mean he was unhappy. The other captains would make their snide comments or glare at him and his perceived special treatment. But he would get there and he would get the job done. Julius knew him well enough to know it to be true, even if he didn't approve, even if it made things more difficult. Yami didn't really care.

Still, when he sat up, Yami felt his head spin. The air felt frigid as it hit his skin. He groaned once more. He had no choice, he called for Finral. The spatial mage hesitated at the door as he peeked in.

"Yes?"

"I need you to go to headquarters and tell them I can't make the meeting today. Go get Owen and bring him back here." Yami ordered before laying his head back down. "Oh, and send me to the toilet." He didn't bother raising his head again to look at his subordinate. He simply assumed his command would be obeyed.

"You want me to go to the meeting for you?" Yami could tell from the quiver in the younger man's voice that Finral's face had gone ashen.

"No, didn't you hear what I said? Go tell them I can't make it. Shit, I knew you were useless; I didn't know you were dumb too." Yami trailed off as a cough wracked his body. Despite the spasms, Yami could feel Finral's stare from across the small room.

"And toilet, now." his voice croaked between coughs.

The spatial mage blew out a frustrated breath before opening a portal sending Yami to his requested destination.

Charlotte had a spring in her step she had lacked for the last two weeks as she walked into the meeting room. The illness had kept her in bed for nearly a week, but even when she finally managed to get up, she still fought a cough and exhaustion for some time.

But the sun had risen this morning and she rose with it feeling like a new woman. She greeted her fellow captains with a chipper hello and a smile. The look they gave her told her how surprised they were by her actions. She took her seat next to an empty chair, anxious to get the meeting started. She looked at the spot next to her and around at all of the other filled seats and she knew he would have no choice but to sit there. The thought thrilled her, but he tried her best to keep her excitement from showing on her face. She had not seen him in nearly two weeks, but in those two weeks, the memories he had left her with had percolated through her mind. She wanted to talk to him, to ask him why, and mostly she wanted to kiss him again.

Still, she thought, being near him would be enough, even if they didn't get the chance to talk about what happened when he had visited her.

Julius walked into the room, his mind occupied by many things. Marx trailed behind him reminding him of the other responsibilities he would have to oversee after the meeting. Julius groaned audibly before looking around at the group gathered in the small room. Charlotte could see him counting. He frowned, but shrugged. Yami was late, she knew, but she also knew his tardiness was not unexpected.

What was unexpected was for the young man in Black Bulls robes to burst through the door. He stopped once he saw the occupants of the room. Charlotte could see his face go white as he met the scrutiny of the captains and the Wizard King. Marx moved to intercept him. Charlotte could hear them talking but could not make out what was being said. She saw the young man protest something before being ushered to the seat next to her. The young man seemed to vibrate as he placed his hands on the table to stop them from shaking.

"Yami couldn't make it himself?" Julius asked, leaning forward on the table. The young man sputtered a moment before finding his voice.

"He's sick, Sir." He ran his hands through his shaggy brown hair which stuck out in every which way.

Charlotte's eyes grew wide and she paled as she turned to the newcomer. He had told her he never got sick, but the feel of his lips against hers rushed back to her once more and she felt the color rush to her cheeks in a fevered blush.

"Really?" Julius replied. "I don't think Yami had ever been sick a day in all the time I've known him. Hungover? Sure. Injured? most assuredly. But sick? Just... sick?" The wizard king tapped his steepled fingers against his lips as he searched his memories. "That's a new one. Are you sure?"

"Yes, Sir. He, ah, well, he certainly looked sick."

"Huh. Well, go ahead and sit in on the meeting. Someone in the Black Bulls might as well know what's going on."

"Yes, Sir." The young man gulped and shifted in his chair.

Charlotte glanced at him out the corner of her eye. She wanted to ask the newcomer for more information, but could not figure out how to do so without revealing to everyone the turmoil in her mind. The meeting came and went and Charlotte had little recollection of it. She had, instead, spent the time worrying. She was good at worrying, though she tried her best to hide it. Yami was sick, and she knew it was all her fault. The meeting was adjourned and the rest of the captains filed out. The younger member of the Black Bulls had been the first out of the door, but Charlotte sat staring at the wood grain of the table top, lost in thought.

"Charlotte?" Julius' voice cut through her mind. She shook her head to clear her musings before turning to him.

"Yes, Lord Julius?"

"Are you alright? You seem distracted."

She tried to smile, but the action felt weird in her muscles.

"I'm fine. Still a little tired." The statement was not exactly a lie, but she hoped he would believe it as the whole truth. He gave her a gentle ineffable smile in return.

"I see. Well, I'm glad you're feeling better." He turned to leave once more but stopped after a step. "It is a bit odd, though. Yami getting sick like this right as you're getting better."

Charlotte froze and her blood ran cold. She knew Julius had access to some strange sources of information, but surely he could not know about what had happened when Yami had visited.

Yami had walked into the pub a few days before the meeting for his monthly appointment with Owen. Since the doctor had helped to reattach his arm several years ago, Yami had always done what he could to pay the man back, even if all he could do was buy him a drink. Only this night was a rare night in which Julius had joined them and in which Yami had already lost his figurative shirt gambling.

He landed heavily in his seat and ordered a drink, thankful Finral had held onto a small collection of coins for him.

"You're late." Owen chuckled, sipping on his whiskey.

"I had a little run-in with a card shark."

"You broke again?"

"Nearly." He glanced over the waitress-a slight brunette who looked more like a column than a woman, as she placed a stein of cheap ale before him. She smiled shyly and blushed before she hurried away.

"She's cute," Owen noted as they both watched the girl's retreat. Yami shrugged before a fit of coughing hit him.

"I guess." he croaked as the fit faded. The doctor looked at him with an uptick in his eyebrow.

"You alright?"

Another coughing fit delayed Yami's answer.

"Sorry I'm late, Owen, Yami." And the appearance of the Wizard King delayed it further.

"No problem, Julius. Just happy you were able to make it this time." Owen's attention was turned to the newcomer. Yami downed the stein in an effort to soothe his burning throat.

"Marx had a fit, but then when does he not." Julius smiled as the young woman placed a fancy glass filled with a rich brown liquid before him. Yami coughed again.

"Would you, would you like another?" The stick of a girl stammered as she gestured towards Yami's empty cup. Yami succumbed to the itch in his throat and coughed once more.

"Ugh, this sucks."

Owen looked at him in concern.

"He wants a whiskey this time." the doctor ordered.

"Can't afford that." Yami croaked.

"I've got it. Just add it to what you owe me."

Yami nodded and the girl scurried away.

"Are you alright, Yami?" Julius looked at the younger man who was part brother, part son with concern.

"I'm fine, just a tickle in my throat is all." He cleared his throat and gratefully sipped the rich brown liquid the girl had retrieved for him. It burned his throat in a vastly different way from the coughing, soothing instead of scratching. He sighed in relief.

As the trio continued drinking and chatting, Yami felt his body grow warm and then cold. He was certain it was simply an effect of the drinking. After a short while, he noticed Owen and Julius were still looking at him strangely.

"Alright, Yami. Spill it." Julius demanded.

"What are you talking about?" He sipped on the newly refilled glass before him.

"Something's going on with you."

"I have no idea what you mean."

"You haven't hit on the waitress once," Owen added.

Yami shrugged and looked at her as she carried a tray of drinks to a table across the room. She was new to the job; he had not seen her before. And she was cute, from an objective standpoint. Finral would have been all over her, but as he watched her, he felt nothing. No interest, no arousal, no desire. And he realized he hadn't felt anything like that for anyone in at least the last week, maybe two. Then he would have at least smiled at the girl, he knew he would have. Maybe he would have ended up taking her to bed, maybe not, but he knew he would have at least shown her some sort of attention. But today he felt nothing.

"I dunno. Maybe losing earlier has set me off."

Owen scoffed at the idea.

"Losing has never sated your appetite, Yami."

Yami shrugged again and lit a cigarette.

"Maybe I'm just getting old."

Julius and Owen looked at each other in a way Yami didn't quite like. The two older men seemed to be scheming, though for the life of him, Yami couldn't figure out why or about what. He took a long drag on his cigarette and another sip of his drink.

"Anyway, on another note, I um heard you went to see Charlotte a few days ago." Julius gave him a small smile from behind his glass.

"How the hell...? And, why do you care?" Yami stammered. Owen chuckled. Yami glanced from the doctor to his mentor and back as he took another long drag on his cigarette to calm his nerves. And for some reason, he felt more nervous than he had in a long time. He had no reason to be nervous; there had been nothing in his visit he needed to keep secret, especially from the likes of them. But having Julius know made him uneasy.

"I have my sources."

"Yeah, well fuck you and your sources." Yami sipped his drink once more as a wave of heat rushed through his body. "I was just visiting a sick friend is all."

Julius and Owen looked at each other once more.

"Oh. Is that all?"

"Sorry if you busy-bodies needed something to gossip about. But this isn't it."

Julius took a drink, his eyes darting around the room.

"Tell me, Yami. Have you gone to see Jack when he's been sick? or Fuegoleon? or Nozel?"

"No. I hate those guys."

"Stop lying." Julius fixed him with one of his hard stares Yami had been so familiar with as a young man. The look had always had the effect of making him straighten up and do what he was told.

Yami rolled his eyes and took another drink. He felt a warmth spread over his face. He did count the other captains as his friends of sorts. Not that he would ever tell them so. He would rather die first than admit he actually cared for Jack, but over the years he knew their rivalry had always been more playful than serious.

Still, Charlotte had always been different, special. He had practically told her to her face they were friends that day long ago when he had stumbled upon her with her magic running rampant. Yes, she had always been different.

"Fine," he admitted. Yami took a deep inhale on his cigarette, drawing in the last bit of it as it burned to the end before stubbing it out completely. "No, I haven't, alright?" He stuck another one between his lips and lit it. "But, when is the last time any of them were sick?" He blew out the smoke before meeting his mentor's gaze. "Look, all I did was bring her some soup."

"You brought her soup?"

Yami didn't like the look of the smile creeping across Julius' face. The older man's eyes lit up in a way which he found most concerning. He could see the scheming in Julius' eyes and he did not like it one bit. However, he did not imagine Owen would join in on the conspiracy.

"Well, if you have Charlotte on your mind, I can see why you wouldn't be interested in anyone else." The doctor smile behind his glass. "She is quite the looker."

"Charlotte Roselei is arguably the most beautiful woman in the entire kingdom and completely out of my league." Yami countered and then grimaced as Julius broke out into a grin.

"You like her, don't you?" Julius chuckled as he took another sip of his drink.

Yami sighed and inhaled deeply on his cigarette.

"What does it matter? She's gorgeous, she's a great fighter, and she hates men. She's out of everyone's league, honestly. So don't get so worked up over it."

"You know what I think, Julius? I think something happened when he brought her the soup." Owen said in a mock whisper.

"You think? Like maybe they kissed, or...?" Julius met the doctor's conspiratorial tone, casting sideways glances at the younger man.

"You know what I think?" Yami leaned forward. "I think you don't give William this sort of shit on a monthly basis."

Julius shrugged.

"I don't go drinking with William."

After the meeting, Charlotte should have gone straight back to base. She had work to do. She had no reason to dawdle, yet she found herself reluctant to leave the capital. She couldn't shake the guilt she felt over Yami's sickness, especially knowing he was only ill because he had come to visit her.

And she couldn't stop thinking about the visit either.

The memory of his presence haunted her, but in the best way. She had always found it difficult to get him off of her mind, but after the visit, after seeing the side of him she had never imagined-his care and concern, his precision-she found herself thinking more and more of him.

She licked her lips at the memory of his kiss and she could feel her cheeks growing warm. Charlotte took a deep breath. She had noticed more frequent, more wistful sighs as she tried to center herself with each flash of memory. She hoped her subordinates had not noticed, but she certainly had. She hated how he loomed so large in her thoughts and how she wanted him there.

Charlotte closed her eyes and shook her head as she walked through the market which formed the central hub of this part of the city.

"He's a friend, is all," she muttered under her breath, knowing the falsehood she spoke. "At least that's what he said." She sighed as she told herself one more time her concern was simply that of a friend. She didn't believe herself.

And as the memory of his lips against hers surfaced once more, she wasn't so sure she believed him either.

Charlotte screwed up her face, chewing the inside of her cheek as a thought occurred to her.

"It would only make sense, right? A friend paying respects to a friend? Repaying the favor?" She muttered to herself as she made her way to one of the small restaurants she particularly enjoyed. "After all, he did bring me soup when I was sick."

Before long, Charlotte stood outside the ramshackle monstrosity of a building the Black Bulls called their base. She knew Yami had chosen it personally, and she had only seen it once before. She had always assumed he had picked it because it was as disorganized as he was. Now, she knew different. She knew how precise he could be, with more than his strikes or attacks. From what she had seen, he could be as persnickety as she was with things.

So, seeing the base now, she had no idea how he could stand the disorderly mish-mash of shapes.

She looked up at the building, hesitating as she stood before the doorway. She clutched the small bundle, not a neatly wrapped as the one he had brought to her, tightly against her chest. The cook at the restaurant had made the soup fresh and had touted its healing powers. She was less confident in its abilities, but it had smelled wonderful to her.

Besides, she reminded herself, it's the thought behind it that's important, right?

And still, she hesitated.

Would he even want to see her? Would he know why she had reciprocated so obviously?

She felt the urge to run, to go back home and forget all about seeing him. She shifted her weight from one foot to another.

"Dammit," she muttered. she took a deep breath and knocked at the door.

A short girl answered, looking up at her with wide green eyes. The girl had dark hair like Yami, and she looked about twelve. Charlotte had the fleeting thought she could be Yami's daughter until she saw the Black Bulls robe covering the girl's shoulders and the grimoire at her hip.

At least fifteen, too old, Charlotte realized as she calculated the chance her first thought was correct as near zero.

"La?" The girl looked up at her expectantly. Charlotte swallowed.

"I'm here to see your captain." Charlotte hoped the redness which so often colored her cheeks was not on display, or at least not noticeable given the lighting. the girl tilted her head and looked at her for a moment before stepping aside and allowing Charlotte to pass.

The inside of the base seemed to echo the exterior in the sloppiness of design and upkeep. But there was something warm about the common area into which she walked, something Charlotte couldn't quite put a name to. The entire atmosphere felt different from her squad's common spaces. It felt more like her private chambers or her garden as she moved through the space in the easiness and coziness of the place.

She moved further into the room but had no idea where to go from there. Charlotte could feel the eyes of the rooms few occupants on her-a man with a heavily painted face and a hat sitting next to a pink-haired woman who had passed out on a table, and a large shadowy figure lurking over them.

"The captain's in his room, I guess. I haven't seen him all day." The girl told her as she sat back down at the table and started gorging herself on the food there.

"I see."

"It's down the hall to the left." The girl gestured with the drumstick she held in one hand, her words nearly unintelligible as she chewed on another one in her mouth.

Charlotte nodded as she ventured more deeply into the building. As she turned the corner, she nearly collided with the young man who had interrupted the meeting earlier.

"Oh, Lady Charlotte, I, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there. What are you doing here?" He looked at her in confusion. Charlotte met his eyes and immediately looked down at the floor next to him. She should have prepared herself to answer such a question. She thought she had, but when faced with it, she felt her heart race and her mouth go dry.

"I, uh, I'm repaying a courtesy." She gripped the bundle at her chest more tightly as she met his gaze once more. "Yami paid me a kindness when I was sick last week, so I thought to repay him for it." The more she talked, the more she felt her cheeks burning. She prayed the hallway was dark enough for the redness to not be obvious.

The young man wrinkled his forehead a moment.

"His room is at the end of the hall, but I'm not sure you want to go in there. He, uh, he's not very pleasant when he's disturbed."

Charlotte looked at the door behind the young man.

"I'll take my chances." She stepped around him and closed the short distance to the door. She could feel the young man watching her for a moment before he disappeared down the hallway.

Charlotte stood at the door staring at the wood grain pattern, tracing the path of darker lines in rough ellipses in the wood. Her heart beat faster as she tried to talk herself out of doing this one last time.

He finally admitted to being a friend. I should be satisfied with that rather than make a scene looking for more, her rational side, the side used to being in control, demanded.

But her heart wanted more. Her heart needed to know if what she had felt from him when they kissed was real.

She sighed, trying to reconcile the two halves of herself.

If it's not, her mind told her heart as it resigned itself to action it did not think necessary, don't be upset, because at least you got an answer instead of this constant wondering.

She knocked on the door.

Yami could feel the ki of someone outside the door, but the sense of them was indistinct. He blamed the fever and the throbbing in his head for dulling his senses. He did not expect the knock, however. The squad knew enough to leave him alone, and Finral had just reported back.

The idiot hadn't brought back the doc as I had asked, he thought as he rolled over and covered his head with the thin blanket in an effort to stay warm.

"This fucking sucks," he muttered as his eyes fluttered shut.

And then the knock came.

He rolled over onto his back again and tried to sit up."Finral, I swear I will kill you if..." He winced as his head swam and he laid back down. "What?" he croaked, hoping it was loud enough to make it through the heavy door. There was no answer for a moment, but when it came, Yami bolted upright.

"I brought you some soup." The voice was rich, refined, a warm alto which shocked him. He had never imagined she would be the one on the other side of the door.

Yami's head swam with the movement once more before he rolled over.

"Oh that was a bad idea," he muttered to himself before calling out to the visitor. "Come on in."

He didn't see her enter as he was hunched over with his face buried in the pillow. The pressure against his eyes seemed to lessen the pain. But the sound of the creaking door and the gentle click as it latched closed told him all he needed to know. Charlotte had come to see him. Despite the pain, a small smile danced on his lips.

But he couldn't let her know how excited he was to see her. No, not after all the teasing he had done over the years. He had a reputation to uphold, even if it was only a reputation he held for himself. He forced his smile away and narrowed his eyes as he looked at her.

"This is all your fault." he croaked. He didn't actually blame her. He was as much at fault for the kiss they shared as she was but he wanted to make her squirm. He lived for it and loved teasing her to see it. It had gotten to the point where Julius had reprimanded him about it on more than one occasion. Though after their last discussion, Yami had started questioning why he picked on her so much.

"I can just leave." She answered as he had expected-cold, harsh, and direct, though she continued to cross the room to where he lay.

Yami looked up at her with a chuckle and then winced as a cough shook his body.

"Ugh. You don't have to." His eyes ran up her body to her face. He wished she was in the nightgown again instead of her breastplate and helmet. He forced himself to sit up as she crouched next to his low bed.

"How can you stand being so low to the ground?" She met his rheumy eyes.

"Just used to it, I guess. It's better than the ground and I've slept on that plenty of times."

Charlotte shook her head with a chuckle as if she could hardly believe the man before her was ill, though one look was all she needed to prove it.

"Here." She handed him the bundle with the container of soup inside before she settled into a cross-legged position on the floor. He struggled with the knot-a crude approximation of the one he had shown her the week or so before until she reached out to assist.

"I don't know what's wrong with me." He looked at his hands as he squeezed them into fists. "I'm so weak."

"It's the illness," Charlotte assured him. "I was worn out for days after you came to see me." The knot now free, she spread the fabric in which the bundle was tied over his lap and took off the lid to the pot of soup.

"You didn't have to do this, Charlotte."

"It's what... friends do, Yami."

"Are we?"

"Are we what?"

"Friends."

Charlotte looked at him for a moment. She pressed her lips into a thin line. Should she say yes or no, she wondered. Should she plant the seed for more?

"Of course." She answered his query with a smile. She wanted to know if there was something more than friendship going on in his head, his heart, but she reminded herself of the reason she had decided to make the trek. She had decided to find out for certain if there was more than friendship between them. Still, she did not want to risk the friendship that could be there.

Yami seemed to relax visibly at her answer.

"Here." Charlotte held out a spoon. "You should try it before it gets cold. I'm sure it's not as good as the soup you brought me, but I did the best I could to find something decent." She rambled as he took the first sip from his spoon.

"Um, you did good, Charlotte. Very good." Yami began to eat with as much gusto as his weakened state would allow. He only saw the smile on Charlotte's lips out of the corner of his eye.

"Good, because I'm going to be here until it's done." She echoed at least the sentiment, if not the exact words he had told her a week prior. She told herself she had intended to drop it off, that her decision to do so was a snap judgment call made on a whim, that once she saw him, she knew she needed to stay. She sighed. She was lying to herself again.

He looked over at her with a smile twitching the corner of his mouth. He brought the spoon slowly to his lips and slurped the broth.

"Maybe I should slow down then."

She felt her cheeks redden and from the broadening of his smile, she knew he had seen. She watched him take another sip of soup. She wanted to ignore his eyes on her, but she could not look away from his gaze. She forced herself to look away, at the small dirty window through which the afternoon light filtered into the room. A shiver ran down her spine and Charlotte rolled her shoulders in response. She closed her eyes. She took a deep breath, trying to still her nerves? her heart? She wasn't quite sure which. She looked around the room, at the walls, the floor, the organized chaos which was the top of a cabinet.

Anywhere except him.

She could hear him though, in the slow clinking of the spoon against the dish and the quiet slurping as he brought the spoon to his mouth.

She wanted to look at him again but feared being caught in his gaze. So she looked around once more. She tried to occupy her mind with anything other than him, and how much she wanted to kiss him again.

The room fascinated her, but also served to heighten her desire. The space was not exactly what she had imagined it might be. The room was smaller than she had expected, far smaller than her own room. The walls were dingy and in need of a fresh coat of paint and the rug on the floor was threadbare. The furniture was aged and worn, yet she could see the hallmarks of superb construction buried beneath years of neglect.

Despite the worn-out appearance, Charlotte noted the room was immaculately clean. The sheets on his bed were crisp, and there was not a speck of dust to be found. She peered at the small window from her seat on the floor and noticed the dinginess which filtered the light was not on the inside of the room like she had first thought. Even the tops of the cabinets had their own sense of order and care.

Charlotte stood up and stretched. She paced around his bed, feeling his eyes on her the entire time as she walked from one side of the small room to the other. She stopped to observe the contents of the cabinet top. She could make no sense of the collection of items stored there. The items seemed random, but she was sure they all had a purpose.

Memories? She thought. Mementos of things he had done?

One item, in particular, caught her attention for how out of place it seemed among the shells, wooden carvings, and fragments of rock, glass, and iron. A piece of dingy white fabric, as neatly folded as the cloth has been around the bowl of soup he had brought her. The material had yellowed with age like the paint on the walls, but it was soft and supple to the touch. She could not resist picking it up. As it unfolded in her hands, she realized what it was. She held in her hands a shirt, very much like the shirts he always seemed to wear, even when the situation called for something more formal. The material had a slight stretch to it and was very thin.

The shirt was also stained at the bottom.

Nearly invisible in the dim light, Charlotte held the edge of the shirt closer to her eyes in hopes of seeing it better.

"What is all of this stuff?" She asked him as she peered at the stain on the shirt. Something about it felt familiar.

"Just stuff I've collected." He slurped up some more soup.

"They have meaning?"

"Do all of your glass roses have meaning?"

"Aside from me liking them?"

"Yeah."

Charlotte ran the stained area through her hands.

"I guess not. Well, only that I like them, I guess."

"Same thing. Sometimes I find something that I like, I'll pick it up and add it to the collection."

"And what does a stained shirt have to do with anything? Or is it just a piece of dirty laundry in need of some care?"

"You don't have to be so harsh, Charlotte." He took another bite of soup with the spoon before he tilted the bowl toward his lips.

Charlotte sighed, frustrated at her behavior. She had never been able to help the harsh tone that came out of her mouth. Especially when it came to him. But he had never called her out on it before. Not so directly anyway. He usually fired back with some quip that was equally infuriating and embarrassing. She held up the shirt so she could see it better. It looked like every other shirt she had seen him in. Small yet stretchy so it would be tight-fitting. She blushed thinking of how it hugged his form.

But this one was obviously older. It was more raggedy, and perhaps a bit smaller than what he wore now. No doubt, it was old. But for the life of her, she could not figure out why he had hung on to such a dingy old thing if he wasn't going to use it.

Yami finished the soup and placed the bowl in his lap as he watched her examine his mementos. She seemed especially baffled by the old shirt he had out. It had been neatly folded and carefully placed with the other items, given a place of honor among his belongings. She had noticed the stain and she kept looking at it. He could imagine her face screwed up in confusion, but not wanting to ask further. Yami wasn't sure he was ready to explain either. He wasn't sure if he could.

He had kept the shirt for nearly ten years. He had tried to get rid of it many times. But every time he purged other items, he could not help but keep the shirt. Despite it being old and worn, discolored and stained, despite it being too small, he could not bring himself to get rid of it. Every time he tried, he remembered the day he happened to be in the right place in the right time to stop a disaster, the day he had seen Charlotte's vulnerability beneath the cold hard exterior. Every time he held the shirt, he couldn't help but smile as he recalled how her face had changed from angry embarrassment at being seen as weak to the dawn of realization that she wasn't in the fight alone.

Something had changed in her that day, he knew. But it had taken years for him to realize something had changed in him as well.

"Charlotte." He shifted in bed, trying to straighten himself despite the wave of nausea which washed over him with the movement. Her face was still twisted in an analysis as she turned to him.

Julius was right, he thought. I do like her.

Had he been able to move faster, Yami thought he would have taken her face between his hands and kissed her, much like she had given him that fateful kiss which put him in this situation in the first place.

He settled for meeting her eyes. Sky blue and intelligent, so much sharper than his own, yet currently filled with uncertainty.

"Do you remember what happened that day?"

"Which day?"

"The one where your magic went out of control."

He watched her brows knit together and her head tilts to one side as she thought. He watched as her eyes drifted down to the shirt in her hands. Yami rubbed his hands against the blanket spread over his lap and legs. As he watched her, a shiver ran through his body, a tingle of anticipation he wanted to ignore but could not. His jaw quivered a bit, but he could not tell if it was from the sudden chill he felt in the air as a result of the fever or if it was something else.

When Charlotte looked back to him, her eyes were wide with realization. She looked again to the shirt, running her fingers over the stained area.

"I was eating soup that day." Yami coughed out, hoping the sound drowned out the nervousness cracking his voice. "When these crazy tendrils started pouring through the city, breaking the ground. I thought it was an earthquake at first when the movement knocked the bowl off the table into my lap and all over my shirt."

"I remember you cutting through the vines, light blinding me as it poured into the opening you made." She smiled and chuckled as she looked at the fabric still in her hands. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. He narrowed his eyes as her hands clenched, twisting the fabric into the fists she made. "Ok. I guess no time like the present." He tilted his head as she muttered something about being honest.

When she met his eyes once more, she had squared her shoulders and her eyes were filled with resolve.

"Yami, I..." She let out a shuddering breath before steeling herself once more. "I like you." The words tumbled from her lips in a rush. He felt his eyes widen and his heart felt like it was going to pound its way out of his chest when he finally realized what she had said. All of the teasing over the years, all of the times she had fired back with how stupid he was... It all meant so much more now. He felt like his eyes had been opened with three little words.

She turned scarlet, as she always had, as she tore her eyes from his. Her hands fell to her side, his shirt still clutched in one fist.

"Nevermind, I..."

"I like you too." The words tumbled from Yami's mouth as quickly as they had come from hers. He felt a rush of relief he never thought a simple admission could give, especially an admission he never thought he would actually need, one he never realized he actually wanted.

But now, looking at Charlotte standing before him clutching the shirt he had held onto for so many years, the shirt he had never been able to part with because it had always brought her to mind, Yami realized the truth of those words.

I am such a fucking idiot for not realizing it sooner, he thought, wondering what had made Julius so certain.

She was blushing, of course, her mouth slightly parted in shock, her eyes wide as she muttered something. He wanted to pull her close, to wrap her in his arms and to press his lips against hers, but as he tried to stand and close the distance, the world spun and he doubled over, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He willed the world to stop and for the waves of pain to go away.

A gentle, hesitant touch ran through his unruly hair, making him sigh and cooling the fires in his mind. He looked up to see her looking down at him. Her fingers brushed over his cheeks and jaw.

"When you say 'like', are you talking about a friend like?"

He couldn't quite put to words the tone in her voice. She sounded uncertain yet hopeful, hesitant, yet slightly excited. He reached up and pulled her to him, pulling her lips against his. She moaned slightly as their lips made contact, holding the light touch before demanding more. He answered her every demand, using her as leverage to pull himself up so they could better embrace. Her hands on his chest gave him pause and he pulled away from her.

"Or maybe more than friends?" Her voice was breathless as she looked up at him with sparkling eyes which reminded him of the sun on the sea.

"Yeah, I think so." Yami kissed her again, smiling against her lips as the cool metal of her bracers against his waist as she wrapped her arms around him as well. The kiss made him dizzy. Either that or the fever did. Yami couldn't tell which, but he could feel his body sag against hers as she pulled back suddenly.

Her eyes met his before glancing down and away. Another crimson streak passed over her face.

"Oh, you are naked." She grew suddenly shy and fidgety. Her hands, which had a moment before been clasped at his lower back, fluttered at his hip bone.

"Yeah." He pressed his forehead against hers. Her skin felt cool to his touch. "It's a nice way to sleep, especially when it's so hot."

He frowned as she took her hands from his waist and used them to draw his forehead downwards. She kissed his forehead.

"You're spiking a fever." She followed the kiss with the back of her hand before and quickly pulled it away as if it had been burned. The motion confused him as he could not stop the chills running through his body. He wanted to wrap himself around her and absorb the heat he could feel radiating from her.

He could see her glancing back at him, though she tried to keep her eyes averted. He leaned heavily against her, or tried too, only to be stopped by the frigid touch of her breastplate.

"You should join me." He muttered as she shuffled him backward a couple of steps to the bed. He landed heavily on the low, thin mattress. The blanket which had been covering him previously lay in a jumbled heap tangled around his feet. Charlotte had found something incredibly demanding of her attention on the wall behind him.

"I don't think that would be a good idea right now."

Yami could tell she was breathing more heavily; he could feel how tense her body was as she fought her urge to look. He reached down and picked up the thin sheet, knowing it would do little to hide him from view or to warm him from the cold which was now seeping into his bones.

"Right now?" He laid back down on the low bed, flailing around as he tried to untangle the sheet in an effort to both cover himself and find warmth. She looked back at him, her attention drawn by the motion. "Maybe later?" He asked as he settled. He was still cold. He still wanted her warm body next to him, if only to stop the chills he kept feeling.

"Maybe." Her voice sounded distant. Yami's eyes drifted closed. He smiled sleepily as Charlotte's fingers brushed through his hair once more.

Charlotte watched him sleep, replaying the last few moments in her mind. She had never imagined he could feel the same way about her as she had felt all these years. She looked at the old dingy shirt still in her hand.

"I can't believe he kept this for so long," she said as she folded it neatly, though not as compactly as it had been folded before, and put it back on the cabinet top in the place of honor it held. She smiled in the cracked old mirror which sat atop the cabinet as the memory of his kiss, of his arms around her, of his body, pressed against her, came rushing back. She turned back to the bed where he tossed and turned, only to see he had kicked off the thin sheet which had already done little to conceal his naked form. She sighed and knelt next to the bed as she tried to cover him fully once more. Her fingers brushed the exposed skin of his back, and it burned to the touch. Yet still, he shivered. She spread the sheet over him and turned to the cabinet behind her. she slid opened a paneled door searching for a heavier blanket. Her searching quickly yielded results as she pulled a blanket as heavy and nearly as thick as the mattress he slept on from the cabinet. She looked at the heavy blanket in her hand, knowing she would be thrilled to have such a weight pressing on her as she slept, but looking at the bed once more, she wondered if it were more a replacement mattress than a blanket.

He had kicked the thin sheet off once more, revealing his well-sculpted body again.

Charlotte closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. His naked body assaulted her once more when she opened her eyes. She placed the blanket which could have been a mattress on the floor next to the bed before leaning over to untangle the sheet from around his legs and where his arms had entwined themselves within it. Her hands shook with the restraint it took to keep from stroking the bare flesh she had wanted for so long. She muttered with the accidental slip of her fingers as she pulled the sheet back over him.

"Stop being a timid child, Charlotte. He said he liked you too." She whispered harshly to herself before she laid her hands on his chest, committing to her desire. A smile curled his lips as he slipped his hand over hers, threading his thick fingers between her delicate digits. His eyes were still closed, but he seemed to draw her in. Charlotte felt herself succumbing to her desire to lay with him, to curl herself around him, to mop his burning head with a cool cloth as he fought the fever which burned her touch.

But she knew she had lingered too long, and if she stayed longer, she might take him up on the offer to join him. She slowly withdrew her hand and returned to the task of warming him. She moved the empty bowl, which had rolled from his lap and onto the bed, and spread the thick blanket over the top of him. Yami sighed and rolled over as the weight settled upon him.

Charlotte leaned over him once more and kissed his temple. She brushed her fingers through his hair again before picking up the bowl she had brought. She glanced back at him from the door, grateful his shivering was no longer obvious.

"We'll talk more about what all this means when you feel better." She whispered to his sleeping form before closing the door behind her.


End file.
